Ghosts
by crescentrolls
Summary: (spoilery for Robin deaths?) All it took to get some answers was to die. This (hopefully) multi-chapter work will follow various members of the batfam after they die in no particular order. They need answers and get them from the couple that started it all, Thomas and Martha Wayne.
1. Jason

Dick Grayson was the first son of Bruce Wayne.

But Jason Todd, the second, was the first to die.

Jason watched as Bruce lifted his broken and bloodied body, roaring. It wasn't anger. It was the primal sound of a father who had lost his son. Bruce's knuckles were white with the effort of holding onto the bright, brash, bluntly honest boy.

He lunged for him. Bruce was _hurt._ Bruce was in pain. His ethereal fingers reached and strained to re-enter his body. Robin couldn't die. _He wasn't supposed to, dammit!_

 _Bruce, I'm here! Just look! Just fucking look!_ Jason lamented as he paced around the man. Touching and grasping him but never truly making contact.

The vigilante took an unsteady step forward, his broad shoulders shivering. Jason kept pace along with him, years of training and practice keeping up with the elder's stride ingrained in him.

They walked for hours.

Even Jason began to feel tired.

" _I'll sleep when I'm dead."_ Bruce had once snapped at Alfred upon finding a sleeping pill in his drink, not fully dissolved.

But Jason didn't want to rest.

He wanted to go home. _He wanted to go home_. To jump back in his body, wake up and reassure the dark knight. To have Alfie gently chiding his rash behavior while tending to his wounds. But Bruce kept walking, and Jason grew slower. Eventually he loses Bruce and slips into darkness.

He woke up in a grey fog. There was a large hand holding his wrist and a smaller one carding through his raven hair.

"Wake up, dear. You're safe," A soft voice murmured.

He peeked through his lashes. Bruce's smart grey eyes, lashed with streaks of blue were staring down at him expectantly. But Bruce's face, not quite the man himself, soon loomed in his line of vision.

"Hi, son."

"Who are you?" Jason croaked. They looked so much like Bruce. But they couldn't possibly be them.

"I'm Thomas Wayne. This is my wife, Martha." He smiled.

Jason launched himself up, swaying as he put some distance between the supposed Waynes. "…What the fuck?" He hissed.

"I do hope you didn't pick that up from Bruce." Martha spoke, then sighed as Jason stayed quiet. "You've been through quite a lot and I don't blame you for being frightened. Do you need a moment to collect your-"

"Proof." Jason grunted, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Thomas chuckled, moving closer to Martha. "Just like Bruce." He hummed, unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt. He pulled the fabric to the side as Martha pulled the hem of her turtleneck up. Their skin was pink, vibrant, _alive._ But the wound on Thomas' left breast was gaping. His heart beat solidly, safely ensconced in his ribcage, save for the bullet wound. Martha's lower abdomen bore the same wound. Martha pulled down her shirt as Thomas began buttoning back up. The Waynes fixed their bright, intelligent gazes on the boy.

"I'm really dead, then?"

"I'm afraid so," said Thomas.

"Is Bruce…?"

"Dead? Thank heavens, no. But he's lost in his grief. Not even Dick knows how to handle him," Marth looked disturbed.

"Dick – Dick came back home?" Jason couldn't believe it. Dick, while at first, had been hostile to Jason taking up the Robin mantle, he had gone out of his way to make sure Jason was okay. That Bruce wasn't too…. Batman, with him.

"Barbara, too. I told you those Gordons were a good family, Thomas." Martha smiled as he grunted.

"That's where Bruce got it," Jason burst out, a faint smile on his face. "He grunts all the time."

"He did when he was boy, too." Thomas laughed, reaching a hand out to his grandson. "We were worried that he had a speech problem."

Jason laughed, stepping closer to the Waynes. "Well, at least he's not alone. Me, too, I guess." He mumbled as Martha pulled him into a fierce hug. She kissed the top of his head as Thomas' arms encircled the two of them.

Just as Martha was about to speak, an eerie moan rolled through the fog, making the Waynes clutch Jason tighter. He looked up, seeing a flash of fear appear in her eyes.

"What's goin-"

"We have to move. We'll talk when we find a safe place." Thomas stopped him. He let go of the embrace. Martha gripped his hand, holding his steady as Thomas placed his hand in between Jason's shoulder blades.

They began their trek through the fog, walking through the grey. Prone figures lay all around them. The figures were whimpering and grasping as if looking for water in a desert. He couldn't see much more than that, but apparently the Waynes could. They would abruptly turn left, walk that way for a while, then turn right, and back and forth so many times Jason wondered if they would wander until another bat or Robin might join them. But thankfully, as Jason's feet began aching, they stopped. He flopped to the ground, staring at his bare feet murderously.

"Where are we?" He asked as he rubbed the arches of his feet. All his scars were gone, he realized as he looked at his calf.

"You're in the inbetween, purgatory. The place between Elysium and Hades, Heaven and hell. You're here because your story isn't over, Jason Todd." Thomas hummed as he dropped to the ground beside the boy. Jason raised an eyebrow, just as confused as before.

"So, purgatory. Basically. Yikes. I'd thought at least I'd get to see the pearly gates. I figured some of my stuff as Robin made up for the street rat life," He paused, afraid the Waynes would judge him for that. But their sad expressions didn't change. Thomas placed his hand on the boy's forearm. "Why are you guys here?"

"We're here because we're stubborn. We waited too long. We wanted to make sure Bruce was okay without us." Martha joined them, stretching her legs out in front of her as she sat.

"Didn't you want to go to heaven?"

Martha smiled sadly. "Bruce was our heaven. We're waiting for him."

"That's awful sad."

"It is, at times. But Bruce, he was our pride and joy. You've met him. He's not the same boy we left, but as you know all the money in the world doesn't mean a thing if you don't have a family to share it with." Martha fixed her eyes as Jason groaned.

"Money does mean the world," he murmured, staring at his legs. "It could'a solved a lot of my problems. A lot of my mom _and_ dad's problems. It didn't stop me from dying."

The Waynes were quiet at that.

"No, you're right. But family isn't always the one you were born into." Thomas spoke up. "We were lucky enough to be there for the start of Bruce's life. But Alfred holds the honor of having raised him. By all rights, Alfred is Bruce's father. Of course, Alfie will deny it till he's blue in the face, but he is. Bruce became Dick's father the moment he let him. He became _your_ father the moment you let him. You and Dick, you're more than we could have ever hoped for. Bruce needs people in his life who challenge him, who make him realize how childish he is at times. _You_ do that, Jason. That is what children do."

"He seemed mad at me most of the time."

"Bruce has temperament issues," Martha conceded. "I think it was all that training that made it worse. But we've spent some time in the manor, especially when you first showed up. He doted on you. He knew your past and wanted to be your future. Not once did you ever truly fail him. Not even in death."

Jason frowned at that. He scooted around to face the Wayne's, his expression pinched. The ultimate failure _was_ death. There was no coming back from that. He had died as Robin, therefore, Robin had died. Robin just couldn't appear in Gotham, especially not if the Joker had killed him. The clown was probably yakking it up in Arkham right now, bragging about killing the Boy Wonder. Hell, Jason could feel Bruce's disapproving scowl as he thought about it.

"Rest, Jason. You're tired. We'll watch you, then when you wake we'll consider seeing if we can arrange a visit home for you." Thomas spoke as he rose to his feet. Martha patted her lap, and Jason laid down, placing his head against her thighs. "You need sleep. Doctor's orders." Thomas winked as Martha let out a tiny sigh.

Jason smiled at their banter, falling asleep once more.

When he came to, he was on the manor grounds. Jason had never been more relieved to wake up from a bad dream in his life before. Thomas and Martha's mausoleum rose above him, seeming to blot out the sun. He placed his hand on the stone building.

"Thank you," Jason whispered right before Bruce walked through him. "What the- Bruce! Come on man. Does personal space mean nothing to you?" He barked, but Bruce simply pressed the key into the lock and stalked inside. Jason felt his brow furrowing in a good imitation of the suddenly manner-less man and followed him in.

"We buried Jason five months ago. I know. I let you two down. I promised myself I wouldn't let another person of our family die… but I failed. I failed you. I failed Jason. I can't imagine a way that my life ends without me in the costume. Jason… he was the opposite of Dick. I think that was my problem? You know? Believing that I could somehow teach Jay to be Dick. I should have recognized him for the potential he had. He was brash, sure."

Jason walked around Bruce. He looked _bad._ Dark circles surrounded his steel blue eyes. His shoulders were hunched like he was still carrying Jason's body. There was a blossom of bruises visible, reaching up from the collar of his shirt. Slowly, Jason reached a hand out and watched with horror as it passed through his mentor.

"Brash, but god almighty, was that boy _smart._ He noticed things that Dick would have never noticed. That I never noticed. I just wanted him to be happy. That's why I went with him to Africa. If he could have a chance at finding his family again, who was I to deny him that? His father… his father was shit. Fucking asshole. Did I tell you he used to beat him? He did. I wanted to show Jason the love that you and Alfred showed me. But I _failed him,"_ Bruce sighed, pressing his head against his father's resting place. "I won't take another Robin. I won't put that mantle onto another innocent soul. I'll go back to working solo. It'll be better that way. There's still Dick. I know I can count on him. He won't… He won't leave me…" Bruce trailed off, his eyes drifting to his mother.

Two other forms appeared on Bruce's left and right, their faces sad. Martha ran her fingers through her son's hair while Thomas watched Jason. The boy finally noticed the unbroken string of pearls adorning Martha's neck. She wore a dress, but he couldn't be sure of the color. Everything that wasn't living in this mausoleum was ethereally blue, shimmering. Thomas was equally dressed to the nines in a smart suit, with a pocket square peeking out from his breast pocket. The two figures moved from their son to their grandson, leading him out of the tomb.

"He'll be there for a while. Come, Jason," Martha whispered, leading the way through the entrance. Bruce's voice spoke up again, but Jason couldn't hear him. They drifted through the cemetery, chatting idly about the Waynes long since dead that currently resided there. As they turned back towards the mausoleum, Bruce finally stepped out. He walked a few yards to a new stone Jason didn't recognize.

"Jason," Bruce whispered, a few tears dropping onto the freshly laid grass. "I miss you, son."

"I miss you too, Bruce. I never said this enough but – _thank you._ Thank you for saving me from my dad. From the street. For giving me a chance even after I tried stealing your tires," Jason laughed sadly. "You gave me a purpose."

"Do you feel that?" Thomas spoke from beside him.

"Feel what?"

"Sometimes, you can talk to the living, albeit in odd ways. It only happens when you're near your body. It's spiritual mumbo-jumbo. Go, stand closer to your grave. Sometimes you can control the wind, or bugs. We're still not sure how it works but we know it works when you're close to yourself."

Jason shuffled closer, then closed his eyes. This was his grave, his grace. He reached down, pushing the layers of dirt and grass away. It's a beautiful wood coffin, and he pushes through it. Slowly, Jason opened his eyes.

There was no connection.

"What?" He whispered, touching his face. It looked like him. But somehow it _wasn't._ Jason pulled down the collar of the suit he was in and yelped. The mole that had been on his collarbone as long as he could remember was gone. His scars were gone. _Everything was gone._ Jason shot to the surface, shivering violently.

" _That isn't me._ "


	2. Dick

Dick died, but was brought back the quickest. That didn't mean a damn thing in the spirit world.

He sat up in the fog, finding himself naked. Dick's training kicked in automatically and he began scanning his surroundings. There were sounds of moaning people echoing from all over, so he couldn't gauge the distance between himself and these potential threats (or were they victims?). Dick slowly moved into a crouching position as two voices were clearly audible over the moans.

"Really, I have half a mind to go visit Bruce in his dreams and tell him what. Of all the boys? Dick? Unbelievable. He's becoming more reckless with age. You would think that he'd start to slow it down," The woman sighed. "But he's never been one for doing rational things."

"Let's find Dick first. Then we can go visit Bruce."

"Who's there!?" Dick called, trying to duck lower in the mist.

"Easy, son. It's Thomas and Martha." Thomas called back.

" _Wayne?!"_

"That would be us, yes," Martha smiled as she approached Dick, who was trying desperately to cover up his nakedness. "Thomas, help the poor boy."

Thomas swooped down on him like Bruce often did, dropping a tee shirt and some shorts. He winked at Dick, going back to Martha who was looking the other way. Dick quickly dressed, then stood up at looked at the Waynes with a piercing gaze.

"Jason has seen you guys," He swallowed.

"He has indeed. Jason has a bit of a mouth on him. Can't say I blame him, though. The streets are rough place for a kid." Thomas hummed as Martha strode to the boy confidently and wrapped him in a hug.

Dick hugged her back after a beat, his arms wrapping around her. She smelled like lavender and cotton and her embrace was that of a mother. She squeezed him tightly then released him.

"Let me get a look at you, hm? You've grown so much since we first saw you in the manor. You're still a lean thing though, aren't you?" Martha fretted, her hands moving to cup his face. "It's just so surprising. You would think someone with a heart as big as yours would be bigger. But I'm glad. Oh, Dick, it's _so nice_ to finally meet you. That little girl of yours is simply adorable."

"That little- Wha-at?" Dick stuttered, his eyes going wide.

"Martha, he doesn't know about her yet." Thomas muttered, rubbing his face tiredly. "Sorry, Richard. She's wanted to meet you for so long. But not this soon." He added, then frowned as he watched Dick. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Little girl," he murmured, obviously falling into his thoughts. "Oh, _wait._ Are you saying that Starfire _was_ pregnant?"

The Waynes looked at each other.

"Oh, Bruce is going to _kill_ me." Dick groaned.

"He will not! We'll make sure of it. Now come, we want to know all about your life." Martha pinched his cheek gently, earning a small laugh from him.

"What's so funny?" Thomas asked.

"My mom used to do the same thing… wait. If you're here, are… are _they_ here?" He asked, suddenly becoming much more alert in the fog. He looked around for the lean, build of his father through the mist, for the small but muscled frame of his mother by his side. But the mist was too damn thick.

"They are. We'll lead you to them. Since we've been here longer we know our way around. But Dick?" Thomas placed his large hand on his shoulder. "If Bruce somehow manages to bring you back before we get to them, you must know that your parents are _so_ proud of you. They miss you, but you are doing so much good that they're fixing to burst. Quickly now, if you want to see them." Thomas began steering Dick through the fog.

Dick began telling the Waynes everything. He told them about his arrival to the manor, how he found out that Bruce was Batman after crashing an interrogation, how he left the mantle of Robin behind and many more. During the more difficult stories Martha would take his hand, squeezing it for support. Dick was so appreciative of that, that he began squeezing her hand back and leaning against her. He began to run out of stories just when he was tackled. Dick hit the ground, then flipped so he had his assailant pinned beneath him.

John Grayson's laughs boomed beneath him. Dick froze, his father's face was covered by a huge grin as he gripped at his son's wrists.

"God, you _are_ as good as they said you were." He chuckled as Dick released his grip. "I would have thought that you woulda heard me coming. Getting lazy in old age, Dick?"

"Dad…?" Dick whispered, feeling his eyes begin to burn with tears.

"I leave you two alone for _one minute_ and you end up on the floor. You Grayson boys are nothin' but trouble. Hiya, Martha, Thomas." She sighed. Dick whipped his head around, tears running down his cheeks in rivers. He yanked his father up as he stood, then grabbed his mom and pulled them in for as tight of a hug as he could possibly manage. Mary Grayson was all but buzzing as she kissed her son's face all over. John's arms crushed them to his chest, feeling his son's tears soaking into his shirt.

"It's okay, Dick." He murmured.

Dick whimpered a response, leaning into his mother's affections.

"Hush, my little robin. I missed you so much, baby bird," Mary crooned, finally tilting her son's face up. "Oh, you are so grown up. Look at you, Dick. My brave, brave boy." She began running her hands up and down Dick's arm, patting his face and _beaming_ as she took in her son. "You've come so far, Dick. We are so proud of you – _probably more than Thomas and Martha are of Bruce,"_ She whispered as Thomas groaned.

"That's impossible, Mary. No one can beat how proud we are of Bruce." He grunted back.

"Oh, leave the Graysons alone, Tommy. We're going to walk for a bit, give you some time with your parents, okay?" Martha linked her arm through her husband's. Dick nodded, a grateful smile on his face. With that, the Waynes left the Graysons alone.

Dick hugged his mother once more, his head resting on top of hers. He squeezed her tight, finally releasing her when John tapped him on the shoulder.

"What, no hug for pops?" He asked in mock-hurt.

Dick jumped on him, hugging him just as fiercely. "I missed you two so much."

"I know, Dick."

Dick finally relinquished his grip on his father, then sat down. He felt weak, but he couldn't tell if that was from finally seeing his parents or just the general feeling of the place. The air was cold and still tinged with the muted moans of the mystery people lying about the mist. His parents sat on either side of him, taking his hands. Dick began talking about his life.

"Bruce… as frustrating as he is at times, he saved me. I owe him so much, you know? Not for picking me up and putting me back on my feet after the… fall; but for also keeping me safe. I still… I still don't know about calling him dad. I mean," He looked at John with conflicted eyes. "He's not you, but he still raised me."

"Dick, I won't be offended if you call him Dad. Bruce has been a part of your life much longer than either of us were. But it is your choice in the end if you want to call him dad. At no point, have you disappointed us. You've made some poor choices, mainly stalking the batman and bursting into an interrogation – I'll tell you what, your mother and I just about had a heart attack watching you – but you've always managed to turn bad situations into manageable ones."

"Yikes." Dick whispered, feeling a fresh wave of tears falling from his face. "I'm glad we're together. I missed you two."

"We wished you would have waited longer to reunite with us, but I'm selfish and I missed you, my robin," Mary placed her head on his shoulder, squeezing his hand. "Now, is there anyone special in your life?"

Dick brought her hand up to his lips, and kissed the back of it softly. "Yeah, there is," a dreamy looked slid over his eyes. "His name is Wally West. He went by Kid Flash back in our time in Young Justice. He's great. He's funny, he's kind and he's not afraid to call me out when I'm being dumb."

Mary hummed happily, squeezing his hand. "If you're happy, we are happy. Hopefully we'll meet him in a very long time."

"… Yeah, a long time," Dick murmured, remembering what had brought him to this happy moment. He looked at his parents, his eyes filled with sadness. "Wally… I'm going to miss him."

"It will be worth it in the end, though. We're glad you're here, but we wish it would have been later." John murmured. "Wally will miss you just as much as you missed him. We missed you so much, Dick. You have no idea."

Dick jerked suddenly, feeling a sharp twinge in his chest. He looked at his parents with wide, scared eyes. Mary tilted her head to the side, then smiled sadly.

"Bruce is a stubborn man. Dick," she swallowed, tears appearing in her eyes. "You're going to do great things. But don't you dare come back before you're ninety."

"Mom?" He asked, feeling another twinge wrack through him. "What's going on?"

"Bruce is bringing you back. You better go home." She whispered, leaning in and kissing his forehead.

"I don't want to go," He whimpered, grabbing onto his father fiercely. "Dad… Mom… please."

John gripped his son's hand, and squeezed it. "We don't want you to go either, but you need Bruce, and he needs you. Go save some more people. Tell us more about your life in a couple decades from now, okay? You're not done flyin' yet, Richard."

"I love you, both. So much." He gasped. Then they were gone.

Dick shot up, feeling solid. His arms had weight. He could feel Bruce clinging to him, his strong grip all but crushing the flow of blood in his veins. He looked towards his guardian and broke into tears.


	3. Tim

Tim just wanted to rest.

Seriously. He couldn't even get a break when he was dead? No, of course not. That would be _too_ easy. He closed his eyes, feeling how naked he was and hating it.

"There's gotta be a way I can clothes." He grumbled as he rose to his feet. Tim looked around, hearing various forms groaning out for help. He needed to get dressed, then he could help those other people.

As if by magic, a beige tunic and beige leggings appeared on his body. His feet were still bare and he sorely missed underwear, but this would work for now. He tugged open the collar of the tunic and approached the nearest body. It was a small girl, her body covered in bruises from head to foot. With a grimace, he bent down and gently patted her cheek.

"Hey, you need to wake up. Come on, what's your name?" His voice was soft as he tried lulling her back to consciousness.

The girl continued moaning and instead simply curled into a smaller ball. Her hands gripped her arms fiercely, refusing to let Tim help her. Just as Tim was going to try again, he felt a presence approaching him fast. He shot to his feet, fists held at the ready, feet spread apart.

"Easy, son. It's okay. We're trying to get you back home but you've got to leave her alone. The longer you interact with the girl, the harder it'll be for them to get you back home." The man spoke, his voice deeper than Bruce's.

Tim didn't relax.

"I'm Thomas Wayne."

Tim relaxed.

"If I didn't know you were a Drake, I would have thought you were Bruce's," He laughed, taking a slow step forward. "Do you want proof I am who I say I am?"

Tim nodded.

"In Wayne Manor, there is a massive cave that's connected to Gotham City via old defunct sewer lines. My grandfather's father designed it that way so we could move our logs into the city towards the port. Since my wife and I's death, Bruce has upgraded the cave to house the central hub of his nightwork. You're the third Robin, now called Red Robin if I'm not mistaken. Bruce has adopted you, but hasn't officially made the news public. He saved you from Jack and Janet Drake, and Alfred left you a warm cup of coffee on your bedside table this morning. Black, correct?"

"I see where Bruce gets it," Tim laughed after a beat of silence. "Yeah, that's right. You really are him, then? Which means I'm really dead."

"Unfortunately. Come, Martha wants to meet you. I believe there are some others that want to meet you as well," Thomas nodded towards the fog, and with a shrug Tim followed him.

"What happened?" The elder Wayne asked.

"Another invasion of Gotham. I… there were drones everywhere. They were going to kill us all. I reprogrammed them to attack me so the others would be saved. I'm sure Bruce is pissed, but I know he would have done the same thing. I just beat him to it," Tim laughed bleakly. "Another Robin joined the Dead Robin Club."

"That's dark."

"So is what we do. I knew it was bound to happen eventually. I mean, Bruce has already got Damian to be his new Robin. It's just a matter of time before Damian joins it, too. God," Tim shivered. "What's going to happen to Bruce when _that_ happens?"

"We're not going to think about that," A woman's voice spoke, startling Tim. He whipped around, seeing Martha Wayne. "Hello, Timothy."

"Hi, Mrs. Wayne," He murmured, seeing where Bruce got his gentleness and ferocity from. Martha's eyes were soft blue and filled with warmth. But there was an underlying edge that commanded him not to lie to her, or else she would make him regret it in the way only a mother could. Bruce may have inherited his father's looks, but he had his mother's personality.

"Oh, you rich boys are so well mannered! Call me Martha, please. How are you feeling?" She asked, eyeing him skeptically.

"Uh, confused. And tired."

"You always worked yourself too hard. Tim, listen to me," Thomas placed a large hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to take a break. I know it's scary, taking time off for yourself. You think that you need to work and work and work to make the family happy. I'm guilty of it, Bruce is guilty of it, it seems to be a Wayne trait."

"But I'm a Drake."

"Don't you forget that. But, you're a part of the family now. You may be a Drake by blood, but you are also a Wayne. You are doing _both_ your mother and father _and_ Bruce very proud." Thomas finally relinquished his grip on Tim, then took a step back.

"Are… are they here?" Tim finally voiced, unable to hide the quiet shake in his normally sure voice.

Thomas and Martha exchanged quick looks.

"I'm afraid not, dear."

Tim swallowed. "Do you know… where they went?"

Martha brought him into a warm hug, running her fingers through his black hair. "I don't know dear. I know that they put you through hell and back. But all parents love their children. If you'll have us, we would love to be your grandparents."

"I thought you already were."

Thomas laughed at that as Martha squeezed him tighter for a moment.

"I told you he was a good kid," Thomas grinned, reaching over and ruffling up Tim's hair.

"I just wanted to ask." Martha hummed as Tim ducked away, a grin on his face.

"Bruce… he's been more of a parent than both of my parents ever were. I can't thank him enough, even though he aggravates the hell out of me. Some of my brothers _have_ tried to kill me, but they've all gotten better, I think."

Martha grinned at him, then swept him into her arms once more. She kissed the top of his head and gave him one last squeeze.

"You're fading honey. Someone is bringing you home. Don't come back until you're well into your 90's, do you understand me?"

"Wh- Fading?" Tim looked down at his hands, seeing that he was in fact fading in her arms. "I'm coming back to life?"

"Yes. Tell Bruce we say hi. And Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to do great things. Just don't - for the love of god - let Gotham consume you."

 _ **A/N: Hi guys! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I just got back from being abroad for six months. I'm not sure what my work schedule is going to be like when I start, but once it does get going I should be able to give you an update schedule. I hope you're all having a fun summer! Damian will be next, then there will be an interlude. Please forgive any typos!**_


	4. Damian

_Damian really hates being dead._

 _Mainly because he knows his father won't truly avenge him the way he should, but what could he do about that now?_ Damian sat up in the thick fog, and promptly threw his fist into a face he had seen on many paintings in Wayne Manor.

"What the hell does Bruce train you boys in? Paranoia 405?" Thomas groaned as Martha reached for his face. She pulled her husband's hand from his face to inspect the damage.

"Damian, what do you say?" Martha prompted.

"Who are you people?"

"Like father like son." Groaned Thomas after a particularly vicious prod from his wife. "Don't you recognize us?"

"I do, that's the problem," the youngest Wayne got to his feet, circling around his grandparents slowly. "It obviously means I'm dead, but the fact that you're both here means that there isn't any sort of positive afterlife…. Which sucks."

"I don't think it's broken. Just sore."

"They told me about you two," Damian accused, watching the elder Waynes. "I told them they were fools if they thought you were real. I was wrong."

"Damian, that's enough."

The son of the Bat blinked. No one, not even his mother had used such a tone with him. He swallowed as Martha leaned down.

"We could have left you here. We didn't because _you're_ our grandchild. We love you and we want to see you safe. But you need to understand that our love for you, that Bruce's, and your brothers love is not a weakness on your part. You are stronger because of everyone's love. You are a Wayne. Do you understand me? You are not your childhood," Her nose was inches from his. "We are not asking you to love every one as Dick does, but just to try. Can you do that for me, little one?"

"To try loving the family?" Damian asked, his voice small as his size.

"Yes."

Damian looked towards his grandfather. He could try. He really _could._ But after everything, after Ra's and his father beating the shit out of him when he was under Talia's influence, it was still scary. It was different than the smell of an attempted rapist in Gotham's street. It wasn't sweat, fear, and the stench of rotting garbage wasn't nearly blinding him. It wasn't his senses, his realized. It was his gut.

It was telling him that his grandparents had a point.

"I'll be here for a while. Maybe you could… teach me?"

"Why do we fall, Damian?" Thomas asked.

"What?"

"Why do we fall, Damian. Do you know?"

"Because we lost our balance?" That earned a laugh from Martha.

"You really are Bruce's boy. He said the same thing." She hummed as Thomas pulled the boy into an embrace.

"So we can learn to pick ourselves up again. Come on, Dami. Let's-"

A furious scream tore through the clearing so loudly, it parted the fog. Thomas clenched his grandson to his chest as he rose.

"We have to go, now!" Thomas called over the scream. Martha took his hand and they began running. Damian squirmed in his arms.

"What's going on? Put me down! I can help," He protested, pushing against his grandfather's chest.

"Stay _still_ son. It's the wraiths. They're coming to take you to the afterlife. If Bruce is going to succeed in bringing you back, you must stay with us." Thomas hissed into his ear. Damian grumbled, but ceased trying to escape his arms.

The wraith was still screaming as it searched.

It screamed up until the day Damian woke up on Apokalips.


	5. Interlude: Alfred

Alfred has had a recurring dream since Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down in Crime Alley.

And it starts off like this:

"Alfred, if you don't take the night off, I'll fire you," Thomas Wayne threatens as his wife clasps the pearls around her neck.

"Really, sir, I don't mind driving you and Miss Martha to the cinema. It's no trouble at all."

Martha's stunning blues pin Alfred to the floor through the mirror. "Alfred, dear, you are fired. I'll expect to see you tomorrow morning for your rehiring."

The young butler sighs, feeling much older than his twenty one years. Finally he relents.

"Damned Americans," he mutters with a small smile. Martha knows she's won right as Bruce thunders into the room.

At eight years old, Bruce has the threatening demeanor of a puppy. He stops in front of Alfred, his bright, joyous eyes alight. He tugs at the butlers' jacket.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Did they fire you?" a mildly panicked voice inquires.

"They attempted to, Master Bruce. But fear not, I will be here throughout the remainder of your lives. Not even a Wayne can scare me."

"You better not be here when we get back. I want to hear all of your drunken escapades around Gotham first thing tomorrow. Doctor's orders." Thomas speaks as he adjusts Bruce's coat. He's kneeled in front of his son, inspecting him.

Bruce lifts his chin, and the proud smile that blooms across his face makes the room swell. Thomas knocks his son's chin with a soft nudge as he gains his full height.

Then they leave the manor.

Two gunshots fire loudly, and the next thing Alfred realizes is that he's holding an unusually quiet and unusually still Bruce in his arms.

"Alfred," Thomas Wayne speaks from behind him. That's impossible, however, due to the fact that the man is lying dead a few feet away. Alfred has never turned to look at the man who saved him. He can't. He's failed his son, and by extension, Thomas.

He's never faced Thomas until Tim Drake came back from the dead.

This time, when Alfred hears that familiar and _dearly missed_ timber, he whirls around and crushes the man in hugs he rarely gives. Tears rush down his face in droves as Thomas hugs him back.

" _I've failed you_ ," he hiccups, loathe to let go of the man. "I've tried my best, damn it all. I tried to protect Bruce and the boys and girls and I jus-"

"Enough, Pennyworth," Thomas orders. Only the years of military and MI6 training back him take a step back and snap to attention. The Wayne Patriarch places his hand on the old, and very tired, butlers shoulders. "You have not failed us. Never, old friend. You've done more than we could have ever asked _or_ hoped for. My boy is successful, happy, loved, and safe. You raised my son for me, better than I could've done. You've welcomed seven of the most impressive children into our family. You've never failed us, Alfred."

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you, sir."

"I won't forgive that. If you don't take my word, maybe Martha can change your mind, " he laughs as his wife appears from nowhere.

"Still stubborn as ever, Alfie?" Martha hums. She reaches out and cups his face.

"I can't let you Wayne's order me about all the time," he laughs tearfully, leaning into her touch. He brings his hand up and squeezes hers softly.

"Thomas is right, you old coot." Martha says teasingly as she moves her hand to squeeze his. "You've made a wonderful family. You've worked hard, often too hard. If only Bruce wasn't so stubborn… Then maybe we could get through to him. But you deserve to know that Tommy and I are so _immensely proud_ of you."

"Have you two been all right?" He diverts. He's uncomfortable. He thinks they don't know what Bruce becomes when the sun sets. He wonders if he should tell them; it's probably safer if he doesn't.

"Mm. Being dead is relatively easy. A bit boring at times. But Bruce sure gave us more to do when he started jumping off buildings in Gotham and growing our family," Thomas waves his hand.

"You know?"

"Darling," Martha laughs. It's songbirds when they see the first light of dawn. "We _never_ left."


End file.
